


In the Language of Violets

by KellerProcess



Series: Ineffable Bureaucracy One-Shots [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gabriel loves clothes, He/Him Pronouns for Gabriel, Michael is smug, Other, and Beelzebub but shhh don't tell him I said that, and fashion shows, because I'm terrible like that, both demons and angels have potty mouths, but may I remind y'all that this was Jon Hamm's idea in the first place, fashion - Freeform, he/him pronouns for Ligur, i just ran with it, massive apologies to Elizabeth Taylor, no actual warnings here except a little grave robbing, rated T because of some swears, she/her pronouns for Beelzebub, so blame him, they/them pronouns for Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21891922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KellerProcess/pseuds/KellerProcess
Summary: Gabriel is really excited to show off his new eyes! So he invites the only supernatural being who will care about them up to heaven to have a look.
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens) implied, Ligur/Michael (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Bureaucracy One-Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576978
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	In the Language of Violets

_March 24, 2011_

Beelzebub straightened the violet boutonniere on her morning jacket as she stepped off the escalator and into heaven’s highest level.

“Ugh,” she grumbled to herself, “it isn’t that it’s so clean,” she said as Ligur moved to her side. “It’s that they make such a show of it being that way. It’s pretentiouzz—preten- _tious_.”

She bit her lip and sighed. “I really, _really_ hope it doesn’t keep doing that.” Because of course that blessed tic _would_ act up now. Of course it would.

Ligur brushed his palm over her back. The ghost of a gesture pulled her shoulders down from her ears, and her chest outward into a more princely stance.

“All right,” she said, turning her head to the left to give her duke a stiff nod. “Let’s see what he wants, then.”

“Nothing too serious, I’m sure,” Ligur replied as they strode down the nearly empty corridor. “No meetings scheduled for at least six months, for one thing.”

A few angels glided past them on hoverboards. When Ligur sent a smirk and a wink their way, one gaped so widely and for so long that they ran into the other, sending them both to the overpolished floor.

“Stop.” Beelzebub rolled her eyes at him, but her lips twitched in a smile. Even her flies’ buzzing was more of a giggle than a scolding. They were now circling her head at a speed that was closer to normal. Ligur’s reassurance had made them feel less guarded—and therefore less flighty—too.

“No powers about either,” she noted with a gesture around the large empty hallway, emphasizing the absence of heaven’s security team. “Usually can’t escape them when we’re Upstairs.”

“That’s because this isn’t a state visit,” Michael said as they emerged from around a corner.

“Michael.” Ligur tried to keep his tone neutral, but Beelzebub could have heard the smile in it even if his lips hadn’t pulled into one—which Michael returned, along with the slightest bat of their long lashes.

Beelzebub gave Gabriel’s second-in-command a stiff but respectful nod. She wasn’t sure what was going on between Michael and Ligur, except that 1) it wasn’t interfering with the backchannel between heaven and hell (that neither she nor Gabriel knew a thing about, of course!), and 2) Hastur wasn’t seething and/or crying to her about it. As long as both things didn’t change, Beelzebub was content to keep out of the three’s personal business—far, far out of it. 

“Yes, Michael, I suspected that was the case when we weren’t escorted up,” she said in her usual bored tone. “Gabriel called them off, then.”

“That’s right,” they said, appearing not at all put off by her tone. Millennia ago, the lack of irritation would have infuriated her; these days, she knew that trying to piss off Gabriel’s inner circle was a waste of time.

“Well, what does he want, then?” she drawled. After all, not being able to rile up Michael didn’t mean she’d speak to them in a polite, dulcet tone.

“Oh, he wouldn’t tell me,” Michael said, pressing their delicate hands together in front of their waist.

That meant only one thing.

“Fuck my life,” Beelzebub grumbled. “It’s a bunch of new suits, isn’t it? Why can’t he just make a haul video and put it on the TooYube like everyone else?”

The confused arch of Michael’s delicate, even eyebrows nearly made Beelzebub smirk. She would have to thank Darkorce One for teaching her that comeback. Or … were her team of cloned demons calling themselves The Hell Squad now? Or Hashtag-Team-Head-Office? Who the fuck knew these days, really? No wonder Hastur was regularly discorporating them for nattering on about these newfangled human things.

“I suspect suits may have something to do with it, yes,” Michael said a beat later, their face returning to its usual graceful, unperturbed elegance.

“Well,” Beelzebub said with a sigh, shoving her hands into the pockets of her trousers, “let’s get this over with.”

“Very well. If you’ll follow me, please.” Michael turned and glided off through the wide hallway, not waiting for both demons to follow. Yes, glided. Only they didn’t need a hoverboard to do it; their steps were far steadier and more graceful than the movements of any hoverboard could have been.

“So smug,” Beelzebub growled as she strode after them.

“Yeah.” Ligur’s tone was far too filled with tongue-tangled adoration, and Beelzebub had half a mind to mock him for it. Though really, in some ways she envied him. More than one way, sometimes.

Michael was everything a prince of heaven should be: Dignified. Refined. Not only unwilling to but incapable of taking any shit from anyone. Beelzebub was no different—well, she admitted, definitely not as elegant and refined. At least in the way heaven defined both terms. Still, those similarities between her and Michael should’ve intrigued her at the very least. Instead, she found the situation irksome and was all too happy to let Ligur moon over Michael, or drool, or lust, or whatever he was doing with the way he smiled at them and the sappy colors that flashed through his ever-changing irises.

If not Michael, then surely Uriel. As sharp as a sword edge and fierce as holy fire, yet tempered and controlled. Oh, she and Beelzebub would have clashed—they already did plenty of that whenever they were in the same room. But life—even a demon or an angel’s life—wasn’t a battery or a magnet: the ability to have a good row with someone didn’t have any profound meaning.

Fuck, even _Sandalphon_! They didn’t like demons, of course, and were kind of boring after you talked to them for a while, but Beelzebub had always admired their willingness to punch things. Just _punch_ things if said things pissed them off, or got in their way, or if they felt even an inkling that the Lord wanted them to.

But that was her problem, right there: the Lord. Beelzebub had given Her the finger plenty of times on the way to hell, but apparently She hadn’t gotten the message.

Or maybe She had, Beelzebub thought as she and Ligur followed Michael around a corner. Because that would be just like Her, wouldn’t it? To make Gabriel and then put him _right there_. Without even the consideration of hanging a big Don’t Touch sign around his neck.

Because unlike humans, demons didn’t need instructions like that. Not that they would have listened, anyway.

Still, there were some things you just didn’t do, no matter even if you were a demon. No matter how many times you’d cursed the one who—much to your frustration and chagrin—had, in fact, created you.

So why had she come all the way Upstairs just to watch a vain archangel put on a fashion show—especially when archangels weren’t even supposed to be vain?

_Because I wouldn’t possibly turn down the invitation._

Michael stopped in front of the door to Gabriel’s office and pivoted with the poise of a runway model (a comparison Beelzebub felt was entirely apropos, having attended far too many Fashion Weeks throughout far too many decades with said vain archangel, who had been far more excited to attend them than any archangel should have been, vanity be damned).

“You may go right in; he’s waiting for you,” Michael said with an equally poised sweep of their hand as they moved to stand to the right of the door.

Beelzebub gave them an eyeroll for that.

“I’ll be just out here,” Ligur said as he took up position to the left of the door, which earned him an equally sour look.

Anytime the prince of hell or the leader of the archangels visited their counterpart’s realm, at least one of their highest-ranking staff came with them as a guard. It wasn’t only protocol, it just made sense. But that didn’t mean she always had to like the practice—or that she could never think, like she did now, that sometimes it was just fucking stupid.

 _He invited me to watch him try on_ clothes _,_ _for Satan’s sake. He’s not about throw a pitcher of holy water in my face! If only because you aren’t supposed to get water on some of those stupid fabrics. Whoever invented satin should definitely be in hell._

Shaking her head, Beelzebub opened the frosted-glass door and walked into the room, letting it drift shut behind her, leaving Michael and Ligur to get up to gossiping or playing patty-cake or any other number of things she didn’t want to think about.

Like everything in heaven, Gabriel’s office was over-clean and just a bit too bright. But it wasn’t sterile or antiseptic. If it had been, Beelzebub would have (dis)graced it with a few buckets of miracled-up goat blood the first time he’d invited her in, just because heaven was that irritating. No, for such a spartan room, it had personality. _So_ much personality. The standing desk in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows could have been as nondescript as every other one in heaven—flat surface, single column for support, paper-white. Instead, his was robin’s-egg blue and looked like a backward _7_ , sweeping inward and back like an angel’s wing in mid-flap. The shell on the computer atop his desk was the same color, a color seen nowhere else in heaven but on Gabriel’s body—or on the coffee mug sitting just to the right of the monitor. Beelzebub walked toward it and leaned over its rim, taking in a deep breath.

Midsummer lightning with just a hint of rain—and bergamot. His favorite “beverage.” Smirking, she straightened up and looked around the room.

Treadmill (for when he was too busy to jog through a park); weight rack (for when he didn’t want to go jogging at all); tall glass vase of delft-blue hyacinths (for when he … wanted to look at flowers? She’d never been able to figure that one out.); full-length mirror (for whenever he got worried that something about him was out of place).

_As if that’s possible._

Everything looked like Gabriel. Smelled like Gabriel. Simply just _was_ , in some inexpressible way, Gabriel.

Except, Gabriel himself wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Which could only mean one thing.

Beelzebub sighed and miracled up an easy chair that was, in fact, the exact color of fresh goat’s blood. Slouching down into it, she turned her attention to the wall directly opposite her.

“All right, I’m here,” she told it. “You can start the”—she rolled her eyes again, because really, why did he insist on making her call it this?—“the _show_ now.”

Silence.

Beelzebub folded her hands over her stomach. “Well?”

Silence. Faint giggling from behind the wall.

“Oh fuck this, Gabriel,” she groaned, and this immature bullshit? This deserved an entire roll of her head, not just her eyes. “If you just want to play hide-and-seek, then you can do it with that infestation of little baby putti you’ve got up here and let me get back to w—”

“No, stay. Please.”

With a snort, Beelzebub wriggled up just a bit from her slouch. “Well, come out here, then.”

Gabriel’s office was, indeed, Gabriel—but its subtle blue tones and minimalist furniture was the aspect of himself that he showed to his heavenly colleagues and the occasional humans with whom he interacted. What lay beyond that wall, though, was the aspect of him that few got to see. His innermost sanctum of inner sanctums: his wardrobe. The door that led to it fit right into the wall. So seamlessly that only a miracle could open it.

 _And only one angel can perform that miracle_ , Beelzebub grumbled. _As if no one knows he’s got an entire pocket dimension somewhere that’s filled with every outfit he’s ever worn! Or just thought about wearing but not actually gotten around to wearing yet._

With a sound like electricity passing through crystal, part of the wall opened—a door that was just wide enough for Gabriel to pass through.

Beelzebub flicked her fingers at it. “Well? Uzz- _us_ ually you just can’t wait to show off. Or is something wrong?” She sat forward, elbows on knees. “They didn’t tailor it properly?” But that couldn’t be right. Gabriel would never have let a tailor get away with such a thing!

“No.” He snickered from the darkness beyond the door. 

“You’re not sure you like it, and you’re having buyer’s remorse.” Gabriel always knew what he liked in an outfit—unless he didn’t. But sometimes that required wearing it for hours, most of which he spent turning like a top in front of her, asking and re-asking about cuts and styles and what parts of his body it did or didn’t flatter.

When he only snickered again, Beelzebub grunted and pushed herself to her feet. Straightening her jacket and then her violet boutonniere, she stalked toward the closet. “You want me to walk in there, drag you out by your neck, and—”

And what?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Gabriel said as she reached the door. “It’s just—I’m just so excited to hear your opinion about these!”

 _These_. Plural. Okay. Shoes, then. Or cufflinks. Or some other stupid accessory that came in twos.

“Won’t you sit back down? Please?”

Heaven’s pearly gates and holy fire, he was doing that thing where he dragged out every possible letter of _please_.

“You’re the most irritating angel up here.” She returned to the chair and slouched back into it.

“Thank you.” She could seriously hear that ingratiating smile. “Will you close your eyes for me?”

_Seriously? It’s just a fucking pair of shoes. Or socks. Or gloves. Or sunglasses. Why do they call those pairs anyway?_

She shut her eyes and settled back in the chair. “Fine. I’m ready.”

“No peeking?”

“Satan’s _sake_ , Gabriel!”

“Okay, okay. Just don’t spoil it for yourself.”

“Then come out before the next millennium arrives.” But she didn’t open them.

Michael’s footsteps were always so graceful they were nearly soundless. Gabriel, by contrast, practically galumphed through heaven, and the other two realms. But though his footsteps were heavier, they were by no means clumsy stomping. They were far too refined for that. They were also more authoritative, which befit her celestial counterpart. She often wondered if he practiced them in front of a mirror the same way he did with his smile.

They stopped mere centimeters away from her, and she sensed Gabriel leaning down and toward her. Angels gave off heat like miniature suns, but this particular angel also smelled like ozone, plasma, and rain. It was … heady, she had to admit. And gave his presence away just as much as his body heat did.

And even if it hadn’t, that strange mixture of orange blossoms, aldehyde, and bergamot on top of it would have. Something about it was familiar, but she couldn’t say why.

“You can open your eyes now.” His voice practically twinkled.

And as Beelzebub looked up into his face, so did his eyes. Except, they were no longer seafoam blue. They were the brightest shade of violet she’d ever seen. A violet that had been infused with lightning.

_Oh._

She couldn’t stop staring at them.

“Ta-da!” Gabriel said, stepping back and flourishing his arms out wide.

Beelzebub felt her throat flutter. “Oh, they’re….”

“They’re…?” he prompted. The longer she kept staring, the more unsteady his smile became. “You don’t like them?”

“Yes? No! No,” she explained as his smile threatened to vanish altogether. “No.”

_They’re not bad. They’re okay. They’re all right if you like that sort of thing._

She always meant to say that whenever he modeled anything for her.

“They suit you. They’re gorgeous.”

But _that_ was always what she ended up saying.

And there was his smile again. The real one; not the one he showed to humans or to the rest of heaven.

“I knew you’d love them! Don’t they look perfect with this tie, and this jacket?”

Beelzebub hadn’t even noticed either of them. She lowered her gaze down his body. American-cut jacket in the usual robin’s-egg blue he preferred; lavender tie—but of course; if he’d perfectly matched its color to his eyes, it would have clashed with the entire ensemble. His favorite cashmere scarf. Not that it went with that outfit, but sometimes just wore it anyway, though Satan only knew why….

“They do,” she agreed, looking back up into his eyes. “They’re both new. You got them today?”

“Mh-m. That’s right. I picked them up at my tailor in America. The one in California.”

That was Gabriel for you; at least one tailor in every country where you could find one, and usually ore than one at that.

When had she stood up?

“Why’d you change them?” she asked as she approached him. “Your—” She darted two fingers in the direction of his face. “They’ve been seafoam blue since the twelve hundredz—hun-dr _eds_. And ice blue before that. And before that—”

“Well, everyone needs a change once in a while,” Gabriel chuckled.

“And why now?”

When she raised her eyebrows, he smiled again and took in a breath. “Well—” and exhaled. “Let’s just say the original owner isn’t using them anymore.”

That wasn’t the most confusing thing Gabriel had ever said, but it definitely ranked in the top ten. But he was looking at her with that expectant expression that meant he wanted her to at least try to figure out what he was getting at.

He couldn’t have taken them from another angel, and demons tended not to have eyes in such lovely colors. So that left….

“You got these off a human?” At Gabriel’s triumphant grin, she groaned. “A _living_ human?”

“What? Oh no. No. Gracious, Beelzebub! What do you think I— No. A dead human with _the_ most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen!” He gave her that expectant look again, but this time she wasn’t going to play along. “Oh, come on,” he said, slapping his hands against his sides when Beelzebub merely stared at him. “Elizabeth _Taylor_?” He wriggled his hands as though he was attempting to juggle four balls at once. “No? Be- _el_ -zebub.” He sighed, rolling those new eyes toward the ceiling. “White Diamonds? Black Pearls? The eu de parfum? Made you try both once? You told me they smelled terrible?”

They actually hadn’t. “Yes, I remember.”

“Well! She made them. And she died today.” He clapped his hands together. “She has—well! _Had_ these incredible eyes.” He gestured toward them. “And since she doesn’t need them anymore—”

“Oh, Gabriel.” Beelzebub sighed, facepalming.

“What? I didn’t just go a— You really think I’d do that? _Me?_ No, of course not! I left her mine! It would’ve been wrong not to. Oh, come on,” he groaned when she added her right hand to the facepalm. “You’re really going to tell me you’ve got a problem with that?”

And there it was. That little moue, as if he hadn’t just done something that any self-respecting angel would’ve found not only jaw-droppingly appalling, disturbing, twisted, and fucked-up, but jaw-droppingly baffling.

That was why Sandalphon wasn’t right. Or Uriel. Or even Michael. Even sneaky, elegant, demon-consorting-with Michael.

The reason She hadn’t put a Don’t Touch sign on him.

It was a terrifying thought—if you thought about it too much.

So Beelzebub didn’t. 

Anyway, it was far easier to take his hand and raise it to her lips. And far more pleasurable to press a princely kiss to his knuckles.

“I don’t. Not at all,” she said as she looked up into his face. “And it’zz like I said. I think they’re gorgeous.” Her lips twitched upward.

“You’re laughing.” Gabriel’s lips, on the other hand, twitched downward. “Why are you laughing? What’s funny?”

“Nothing.” Beelzebub snickered. “ _You._ ” She kissed his knuckles again, and then the back of his hand. “You know that stealing humanzz’ eyes isn’t exactly best practices for heaven.”

“And complementing an angel on stealing people’s eyes is best practices for hell?”

One of those violet eyes winked at her.

She wanted to push up the sleeve of that elegant coat. Would the skin of his wrist be anything like the skin of his hand?

The heat of a miniature sun … except one that smelled like aldehydes, neroli, orange blossoms….

Fuck it. She let her lips brush his wrist.

“Well,” Gabriel said as she released his hand. “If I’d guessed you’d like them that much—”

“You would _not_ have taken them sooner.”

Gabriel shrugged and held up his hands in his you-caught-me-I’m-guilty pose.

“So,” he said. “Well.”

“Mh.”

Heaven was completely silent when you weren’t talking in it. But Beelzebub always thought you could hear _something_ in Gabriel’s office. Just … something. Like water rushing through her ears.

“So.” Gabriel clapped his hands together, his tell that he wanted to move the conversation along. “Fashion Week in Berlin is less than two months away—”

“Oh no,” Beelzebub groaned.

“You know damned well you’ll want a break after that quarterly conference,” Gabriel singsonged. And he just looked so _hopeful_.

Who said demons always did the tempting? And there it was: another reason for the lack of that hypothetical sign.

“All right. But we’re only doing _one_ this autumn. I am not going to run from New York, back to London, to Milan, and then to Paris,” she informed him. “If you want that, then you’d better miracle two more weeks into September this year.”

“No, one show is fine.” Gabriel held up his hands. “One is fine….”

That silence again.

Beelzebub thought of her violet boutonniere. Was there any such thing as a coincidence?

“Hm. You look nizze, it’s true. But you need something elzze.” Before Gabriel had the chance to look scandalized, she unpinned the flower. The brush of her finger along its petals lightened it into the exact shade of his tie.

He made no attempt to stop her as she rocked up onto her tiptoes and pinned it to his left lapel. “There now,” she said, lowering herself back onto her heels. “You look even more balanced. And,” she added, “violets are for humility. Which you’d know nothing about, of course.”

“Enough to know that only the white ones mean that.” Gabriel tapped his lips in thought as he walked to the full-length mirror, where he examined his reflection as if he were a monk studying the Gospels. Only when he smiled and turned to her did Beelzebub realize she’d been holding her breath.

“Admit it,” he said as his smile grew fonder, “you know more about color coordinating than any other demon.”

“No thanks to you.”

“And admit it: you enjoy Fashion Week.”

“ _One_ Fashion Week,” she said, holding up an admonishing finger. “Just one this autumn.”

“If you insist,” Gabriel conceded with a shrug. He returned to stand in front of her again, then rested a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you.”

All that sunlight again. “I don’t see why you’re saying that. You’d have pestered me until I dropped everything to come Upstairs.”

“Who, me?”

She took his hand from her shoulder. “And you’d better not do it again anytime soon if you want me to go anywhere with you in July.”

“Of course not.” 

Their fingers had entwined. He was just as aware of the fact, she was certain.

“At least,” Gabriel corrected himself, “unless I find something else to show you.”

Beelzebub had no doubt he would. And because he’d made no move to let go of her hand, she released his.

“Well, if that’s all, I’ll be in my offizze. Doing paperwork.” No matter what world you lived in, that was the way to close a conversation.

Gabriel nodded. “And Michael will give me that Look they always do if I’m late with mine. Speaking of who”—he looked over her shoulder toward the door to his office. When Beelzebub turned, she found the silhouettes of said angel and her duke standing less than a collegial distance apart.

“They have work to get back to as well,” Beelzebub concluded. And with a nod to Gabriel, who nodded back, she turned and headed toward the door.

“Until next time,” he called after her.

“Vanity,” Beelzebub admonished, and his laughter followed her out.

Ligur and Michael were standing much farther apart as she opened the door.

“Ready to go, boss?” Ligur asked as she closed it behind her.

“If you’re finished with your discussion,” she said with a glance at Michael. Just like their demonic counterpart, they hadn’t so much as a hair out of place. Though Ligur’s irises had been a bit on the rosy side, and his chameleon’s expression had been a bit sheepish.

“Then may I show you to back to the escalators.”

“No, but that wasn’t really a question.”

Michael’s features remained unperturbed as they turned; their gait just as graceful as they led Beelzebub and her duke back to the entryway.

“Have a pleasant day,” they said then, but Beelzebub knew they were only talking to Ligur, whose eyes and familiar were now a suspicious shade of salmon.

“So he wanted what you thought he did?” Ligur asked when Michael had glided off and he and Beelzebub were too far down the escalator for them to eavesdrop.

“That’s right. More silly fashion.”

“Mh-m,” Ligur said. “You smell like bergamot and vanilla.”

“And you’re still pink.”

Ligur’s gaze abruptly shifted forward before she could see his eyes, but his chameleon was distinctly a very flustered scarlet.

“Mh-m,” she repeated. “So let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

“Yes, boss. But can I ask one thing?”

“You’re going to anyway.”

“Your boutonniere—” Ligur turned back to her and glanced at her lapel.

“It went better with his new look than it did with my jacket.”

“He’s wearing purple suits now?”

“Let’zz just say your not the only one whose eyes can change color now. And if you’re not careful, he’ll decide they’re all the rage, and be after yours next.” When Ligur’s irises paled and his chameleon tightened his tail around Ligur’s neck, she chuckled. “I’m kidding. I think. He just took some human’s eyezz—after she died, of course.”

Ligur exhaled in relief. “Though with him, you never do know, do you?”

“Suppose not,” Beelzebub agreed as the escalator churned on.

Maybe a Don’t Touch sign really would’ve been useful.

**Author's Note:**

> Purple violets have a multitude of meanings, including one that surprised me. Not only because this meaning seems to be universally agreed upon, or even because of its relevance to the story (and to how I write Beelzebub/Gabriel in general), but because I had no idea of this meaning when I began to write! 
> 
> I'll leave sussing it out to you. ;)


End file.
